Funny How These Things Happen
by little lea valkyrie
Summary: Post-Max. It's funny. We've become so used to getting things stolen—Angel, Iggy at one point, Ari, Nudge for a bit, my Mom—that we're not ready when we find things. With our record, you'd think we'd just expect the unexpected, but can you really blame us?
1. Part One

**Edit: The theme song for this story is "Something To Believe In" by Parachute.**

**This is just something fluffy I've wanted to do for a while. (I usually read stories that I like, and think of ways I can do them differently, no disrespect to the original authors or anything.) So I saw a story similar to this, and I was like, "Hey, idea!" And now we've got, well, this. Enjoy. :)**

**Disclaimer: Maximum Ride is not, nor will ever be, mine. *sigh***

…

**Funny How These Things Happen**

**Part One**

…

Post-Max.

It's funny. We've become so used to getting things stolen—Angel, Iggy at one point, Ari, Nudge for a bit, my Mom—that we're not ready when we find things. With our record, you'd think we'd just expect the unexpected, but can you really blame us?

…

Mom was back at home, safe and sound, and for the first time in forever I felt like I could finally breathe easy. She'd told me that she was fine and that she would be able to take care of herself, but I couldn't bring myself to leave her just yet. So, because that's just the kind of generous, thoughtful person I am, I invited myself to her house with the six others in my flying mutant family and we all staked a hefty claim in her fridge. Luckily for my mom, at least, (and for the sanity of the flock in general) lovesick Total had decided to go with Dr. Stupendous to hang out with Akila for the next couple weeks, something about planning their wedding.

One Sunday morning, the flock and I were pin-wheeling around in the Arizona sky, just enjoying the sun and the breeze and the feeling of cutting through the air. Angel, Gazzy, and Nudge were playing tag, racing around us, squealing and laughing. Iggy had gracefully bowed out earlier to head back inside—presumably to hang with Ella, who we all knew had a _huge_ crush on him. Fang was… I glanced around, doing a quick scan of the nearby sky. My black-feathered almost-boyfriend was nowhere in sight.

"Max!" Angel called, waving over to me as Gazzy and Nudge raced away from her; she had just been tagged 'it.' "He dove down there!" She pointed down into the town we'd flown over by accident. Her eyebrows drew together and we flapped closer, so she could better explain. "His thoughts were all muddled and I didn't really understand what was happening. He just saw something and _whoosh!_ Gone."

I nodded, my hands clenching at the thought of what could have made him dash away like that, without any warning. "Ange, you guys should head back to Mom's, just in case whatever Fang saw was dangerous, okay? I'll go check it out. If we're not back in an hour…" I paused, quickly rethinking my statement. "We'll be back within the hour."

She gave me a tiny angelic smile and nodded, flying over to where Gazzy and Nudge were hovering, both equally curious. The two scattered at first, thinking she was coming over as a threat. When they let her get close enough to explain, my trooper and my motor mouth glanced over at me. I nodded emphatically, shooing them away with large motions, like I was some kind of crazy opera actress or something. Even from this distance, I could see their faces darken with worry, but the three of them did turn around and head back for our temporary home. As soon as they did, I shot down to the ground using every ounce of speed those doctors had injected into my partially-human body.

It took me a minute to get my bearings when I finally landed. This strip of downtown was not one I'd been to before on one of our excursions with Mom, and I recognized absolutely _nothing_, let alone a place where Fang could be. I'm not very proud to admit that my search for my second in command was cut short by a display in one of the shop windows. I walked along the sidewalk, not stopping until I was in front of the shoe store. The window was all dolled up for the summer, with flip flops and sandals in all styles and colors save for a lone pair of clean, brand-new sneakers in one corner.

I glanced at my own sneakers, which were fading out and covered in a layer of dirt. One toe was threatening to fray away completely, since my right foot was annoyingly slightly larger than my left, and the laces were so matted and grimy that I really had given up on using them at all. Those shoes in the display, really, weren't all that different. They were the same style, in a different color—a clean black as opposed to my faded green—and I couldn't help but wish that, just for a second, I could actually _afford them_. God knew I wouldn't ask my mother for money, and that everyone else in the flock would get new shoes before I even considered it, but a girl could dream, right?

With my hands hooked into the pockets of the windbreaker—one I'd hastily thrown over my wings upon landing behind this strip of stores—I didn't expect a hand to worm its way into the crook of my elbow. I stiffened instantly, my heart rake spiking as adrenaline pumped through my system and I prepared to kick this guy into next week.

All it took was a quick squeeze and a hushed, "It's okay, Max," from Fang to calm me down.

"What's going on?" I asked him softly, leaning into his shoulder like we were any regular couple in a pair of matching windbreakers. (Don't look at me like that! They were on sale and we were desperate, okay? And I'm not one to toss out a perfectly good, albeit cheap, piece of clothing.)

"Across the street." His arm found its way around my waist, and we portrayed the part of the casually shopping couple rather well, if I do say so myself.

I looked at Fang's reflection in the window. He was tense and stoic, but falsely so. Frowning a bit, I searched the sidewalk behind us for something that could put him so ill at ease.

Then I froze, and felt absolutely stupid for not noticing before.

Across the street, a small cluster of people—three moms and two toddlers—sat at the tables in front of a small ice cream parlor. Both kids had their own cones, dripping down their hands as they attempted to lick it, and the moms were sitting around one table, talking like old friends. It was the woman facing us, bouncing a black-haired boy on her knee, who stood out the most, with her inky-black hair and her young, tan face. I sucked in a breath when I took in her features, the way her dark eyes were so expressive and her mouth was capable of such emotion without really moving much.

Fang's arm tightened around me, and we both focused intently on the women's conversation, as if our lives depended on it.

A mom with curly blonde hair was talking animatedly, the kid in the stroller beside her half-covered in a sticky-sweet veil of melted ice cream. "That's really wonderful, Beth! Your own catering business? When are you starting?"

The woman who looked so much like Fang—Beth, apparently—bowed her head at the compliment, deflecting it with practice. "Oh, it's really not all that exciting, Jill. My first event is next week. The Hammil wedding. You remember John, don't you? He was in your brother's class in high school?"

The blonde nodded, her eyes lighting up with recognition. "Yeah, is it his boy?"

Beth smiled slightly, brushing her son's messy hair back from his ice-cream-covered face. "Yes, Oliver. He and his high school sweetheart. They're going traditional—a big three-tier vanilla with butter cream frosting."

The third mother, a woman with short, light-brown hair, tapped the speaker lightly on her elbow. "Isn't that reminiscent of another long-term couple we all knew would tie the knot?" she teased.

Jill's eyes crinkled around the edges as she smiled. "Oh, Donna, how could we forget? Beth and Peter were the _sweetest_ things. I mean, we all knew you were going to get married, even _before_ your surprise pregnancy." Her voice softened with the memory.

Donna sobered up a bit, taking Beth's hand in her own. "It's really too bad you had to lose the baby. How old would he have been?"

Beth's face fell flat, losing any form of emotion. "Fourteen," she replied, utterly deadpan, looking at her hands lying on the table. "You know, I never even got a chance to hold him," she went on softly, barely loud enough for Fang and me to hear. "It was a C-section, and the doctors had to put me under because he was a week overdue. When I came to, he was just…" She closed her eyes, her breath coming out shaky and uneven. Her last sentence was a whisper. "Peter said he'd looked just like me."

I could have stood there and listened to her forever, but when the firm, familiar body next to me suddenly _wasn't_, I was yanked back to reality pretty quickly.

"Fa—Nick?" I resorted to our Virginia names at the last second, just in case anyone overheard us. "Nick!" He was stalking down the sidewalk, and I could see his wings ruffling beneath the thin material of his windbreaker. I jogged after him, looking over my shoulder at the women as I went. The black-haired mother, Beth, was looking straight at me, her eyes, while red with tears, surprisingly clear. _Does she know…?_

Then I raced up and yanked Fang to a stop before he could dash around the corner and into the sky. "Where are you going?" I hissed, squeezing his hand.

"Why does it matter?" he growled back, attempting to rip his arm out of my grasp.

"Fang… she looks _just like you_. You can't seriously be thinking that this is a coincidence. What if…" I didn't want to say it. Ever since we miraculously found my mom, the flock had sort of given up looking for their own parents. No one wanted what happened to Iggy to happen to anyone else, and we were all too doubtful that anyone like my mom would ever turn up again. The whole conversation had become taboo.

"Yeah, Max. What _if_?" He succeeded in yanking his arm away, but instead of running, he just spun to face me. Eyes ablaze, Fang spat, "What is she _isn't_ my mom? What if she doesn't believe me, and thinks I'm a freak of nature, and tries to _sell me to the papers_? What if she doesn't _care_? What if she hates _you_, and the rest of the flock? What if she tries to send me to _school_? Or college? What if she tries to take me away from _you_?" His voice had steadily grown in intensity, and now he was practically whisper-shouting in my face.

"Oh, Fang…" I sighed, wrapping my arms around his waist and tucking myself into his chest. I could feel him shaking, how scared he really was. He always thought of the bad scenarios first, since, with our luck, those were the only ones we got. Plus, I knew as well as he did how scary it was when we were apart, how it was inconceivable to think about it ever happening in the future. Fang and I were like… peanut butter and jelly, or Oreos and milk. We were better together. "Fang," I whispered, knowing he could hear, "what if she's spectacular, and loves us all, and makes cookies as good as, or even better than, my mom's? What if she loves _you_?"

I pulled away, enough to cradle his stoic face in my hands. He tried to act all macho and tough, _all the freaking time_, but at least he was human enough to look pained now.

"What if she doesn't?"

And there, my friends, was the root of the problem.

And I really, really wished I had an answer.

When I didn't reply, Fang sighed and backed away, his arms falling to his sides. Never before had I seen him look so defeated, or so scared. "I'm going home."

Before he could leave, a hand landed on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, did you drop this?"

I whirled around, tensing _once again_ for a fight, only to find the dark-haired mom from before—Beth. She had a cell phone in her hand—the same one Mom had given me when we got back, as a thank you for, you know, saving her butt—and was holding it out to me. Beth's other hand was curled around the middle of the giggling toddler, his black eyes wide, a familiar face peeking out from underneath a head of dark, floppy hair.

"Hi!" the little boy laughed, waving at us.

"Um, hi," I said back. To the mother, I nodded. "Yeah, that's mine, thanks. My mom totally would have been on my case if I'd lost it." Not really, but who was she to know?

She smiled a bit, and I felt Fang stiffen behind me.

"Um, well, we'd better get going," I babbled quickly. Fang was losing it; I could feel him breaking down just standing there, staring at the back of my head.

Beth's eyes flickered to his face, and they widened the smallest amount. For half a second, I thought I saw recognition light up her eyes, but the look was gone as soon as it came.

"Well, thanks again." I gave a final grin, spinning around and snaking my arm around Fang's waist once more, barely pulling him forward. "C'mon, Nick. My mom will just _kill_ me if we're out too long."

"Right," he mumbled. I felt him turn slightly to look behind us, at Beth standing there in the middle of the sidewalk.

"She pulled a you," I whispered as soon as we were far enough away. "Did you see that? She wiped her face totally blank."

"Yeah, I saw." We turned the corner, and Fang pulled himself roughly out of my grasp.

"Next time," he muttered, eyes darker, colder than I'd ever seen them before and jaw just as tense, "just stop trying to help, okay? Because when you help, nothing _ever goes right_."

Then he tossed off his windbreaker and jumped up into the sky, wheeling out of there before I could do as much as blink.

And he left me standing there, chest aching, wondering, _What the heck just happened?_

…

**So, there is more. This isn't all there is. Aaaaannnddd… it's all prewritten! *fist pump* So I can post whenever. I'm thinking I'll be back on Sunday, or Monday, maybe. IDK.**

**Lots of Love,**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**

**(PS. There are five "parts" to this. More reviews = the sooner the parts get online.)**


	2. Part Two

…

**Funny How These Things Happen**

**Part Two**

…

Post-Max.

It's funny. We've become so used to getting things stolen—Angel, Iggy at one point, Ari, Nudge for a bit, my Mom—that we're not ready when we find things. With our record, you'd think we'd just expect the unexpected, but can you really blame us?

…

There was a knock on the door.

Fang didn't bother sitting up, finding the carpet of Dr. M's office more comfortable. Besides, whoever was knocking would probably come in anyway.

He assumed it was Max's mom, or Ella, or Nudge, even. They probably wanted to know why the flock leader was currently stomping around the second floor, slamming doors like nobody's business and snapping at whoever crossed her path.

But it wasn't Dr. M, or Ella, or Nudge, or even Angel (who would also be concerned) that walked in and closed the door quietly.

It was Iggy.

"So," the pyromaniac said, moving to where he heard Fang's breathing and sitting pretzel-style on the ground. "Max is ticked."

"Yeah."

"And she won't tell us why."

"Nope." Fang knew where this was going, and was just waiting to hear the words said. _She's mad at _you_, genius._

"Dr. M offered to make cookies, and let Max help. But she just freaked and said that she'd just ruin them. Her words were something like, 'It's not like my help ever did any _good_, or anything.' And now she's in her room. Nudge tried to go talk to her, but Max just chucked a pillow in her face, and then her clock radio. And her lamp."

Fang sighed, sitting up and meeting Iggy's cloudy blue eyes. He, Fang, was still irritated with her, Max; still didn't understand _why_ she seemed to want this for him so bad, or even why she wanted to _help_, but he couldn't ignore the guilt at Iggy's not-so-subtle accusations. (A trick they'd learned from Max—get the kid to confess without actually accusing them outright of doing a crime. It did wonders for her when they were all back at the E-shaped house.)

"Where did you go, anyway?" Iggy asked, switching tactics. "When the kids got back, they were all freaked, Angel especially. She's too nervous right now to poke into anyone's head, what with you hiding out here and Max on a rampage. So… what happened?"

Yeah, like Iggy _really_ believed that Fang would tell him they might have possibly found his mother—in Arizona, of all places. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Fang didn't even _know_ how to put into words what he was feeling—kinda nauseas and dizzy and maybe, sorta hopeful—that translation was usually Max's job. (And she'd always done a pretty good job of it.)

But Max was out of commission, at least for the moment.

Fang frowned at his friend, grasping at thin air for a way to say, well, _anything_.

"Do you remember Virginia?" he began, leaning back on his palms. "And how we found your parents?"

Iggy scowled, as was expected. "And how they were horrible and tried to sell me to the news? No, sorry, doesn't ring any bells."

Fang smirked at the sarcasm, and he knew Ig could hear it in his voice when he said, "Very funny."

The blonde pyro rolled his eyes. "Okay, so what about my backstabbing parents?" He reached out and poked Fang in the shoulder, none-too-gently, and, not for the first time, Fang questioned his brother's blindness. "You're stalling, man."

The fourteen-year-old sighed again, rolling his shoulders and sitting up. "Max thinks we found my mom," he said quietly.

To his credit, Iggy remained silent. His mouth twisted together as he thought, but eventually he said, "Are you sure?"

"I don't know," Fang groaned, crossing his legs and propping his elbows onto his knees. His face fell into his hands, muffling his words a little. "She looked like me, yeah. And she said she lost a baby fourteen years ago that looked _just like her_. Don't you think that's a little weird? I mean, we didn't even go _looking_ for her. It's almost…"

"Like a trap?" Iggy mulled this over, stroking the imaginary beard he planned on growing. Then, "Fang, you're so stupid." And he socked the boy in the shoulder, not bothering to lighten the punch.

Unfortunately, Fang wasn't in the mood for any sort of verbal or physical abuse, so he punched Iggy right back, hitting him square in the jaw.

And that lead to Iggy punching Fang in the stomach, and Fang retaliating with a knee-jab to the side, which was countered with a chop to the head, which was followed by a series of punches to the chest, and in no time at all the boys were rolling around the floor of Dr. M's office, attempting to punch the other's lights out. (Really, they were just kidding around. Mostly.)

Until the door banged open, and a _very_ irritable Max snapped, "My _God_, will you two just _stop it!_"

The two brothers froze, black-eyed and bruised, and pulled apart before she could do it herself, standing up and brushing themselves off. Iggy smiled sheepishly. "You're welcome, General!" He gave a military salute and trotted out of the room before Max had a chance to react.

And then there were two.

Max didn't even look at Fang, instead glaring out the window at the sunny, small-town American street. Her eyes were red, jaw clenched tight.

"Have you seen the Max Card?" she asked, her voice hard and emotionless.

Fang considered taking a step forward, but thought better of it. "Max…"

Her eyes snapped to him, as closed-off and angry as he'd ever seen them. She opened her mouth to say something—probably cuss him out—but a relieved voice interrupted her, calling from down the hall, "Max, we found it!"

Gazzy came running up, brandishing the golden Max Card like it was a holy grail or a first-place trophy. His cheeks were flushed, chest heaving. "Here." And he handed it over, casting one quick, apologetic glance at Fang before darting away.

Max turned the debit card over in her hands, no longer meeting Fang's eyes. "I'm going out," she said after a moment, her voice still stiff, still hard. She spun on her heels, stalked out of the room, and made one final order before slamming the front door closed: "Iggy's in charge!"

She didn't stay around to hear Gazzy's cheers, or Nudge's sighs of relief.

…

**Um… so I've kinda dropped off the face of the planet.**

**Yeah, sorry. *is sheepish***

**So, I'm just gonna post this all at once, yeah? Try to appease any readers I still have left.**

**In other news, the lovely OnyxEagle01 has just given me a wonderful, butt-kicking review (that's seriously long), and I've been inspired (for the first time in about two months) to write Indescribable. So yeah!**

**Lots of Love,**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**


	3. Part Three

…

**Funny How These Things Happen**

**Part Three**

…

Post-Max.

It's funny. We've become so used to getting things stolen—Angel, Iggy at one point, Ari, Nudge for a bit, my Mom—that we're not ready when we find things. With our record, you'd think we'd expect the unexpected, but can you really blame us?

…

Okay, so, _maybe_ I was overreacting a _teeny_ bit.

And maybe I could have stuck around to at least _hear_ what Fang had to say. But I really wasn't in the mood—I was battling killer cramps pretty for the past few days due to certain… circumstances out of my control (my irritation with Mother Nature was up there with my irritation with itchy wind breakers, annoying flying dogs, incessant motor mouths, adorable mind readers, mischievous pyromaniacs, and all-around infuriating second-in-commands) and I was _not_ going to be the one to cave when _he_ was the one who freaked out at me in the first place.

So there.

I couldn't shake the idea of those sneakers, either—the nice black ones in that tiny store-front window; I'm not sure Fang even _noticed_ those, the jerk—so I was out doing when every teen-girl magazine said to do when you were emotionally unstable: shopping.

(Relax, relax, I'm not going crazy, or being out of character. It's just sneakers, _sheesh_.)

I shrugged on my windbreaker when I landed behind the strip mall, strolling around to the front and flipping the Max Card around in my pocket. The sneakers were still there, lit up from above by some mini neon spotlights. I pressed a hand to the glass, looking at those sneakers that I so desperately needed. (And wanted, just a little.)

Then I looked down at the live-saving credit card Gazzy had miraculously found (I really didn't want to know where), then up at the shoes I wanted—I mean _needed_— then back again.

And then I sighed, utterly hating myself and feeling like I had when I'd broken it to Angel and the Gasman that Santa didn't exist. (How they'd even believe him in the first place was beyond me.)

No one at home would object to me buying anything, not when I'd basically scared the living bejeesus out of them all, and that was exactly why I _couldn't_ buy those shoes, or anything else, for that matter. Besides, I couldn't even _remember_ the last time we'd all had proper shoes, shoes that we'd actually _paid _for ourselves. Those combat boots from the Navy were the nicest things we'd ever worn, and we'd had to give those back when we left Hawaii. I thought about the grey tennis shoes Angel always wore—the ones that had been, at one point, a snazzy pink. Nudge's shoes were hand-me-downs from me, I think, and Gazzy's shoes were at least a size too big. Iggy never complained, but I knew he'd grown since we'd last had time to buy shoes, so his were probably too small. And Fang… well, I really couldn't remember when he'd _ever_ worn a clean, new pair of shoes. Maybe at Anne's he had, but it felt like such a long time ago that I couldn't really be sure.

Besides, even if I _was_ currently mad at him, he still needed a new pair of sneakers.

I made a quick decision then, closing my hand around the Max card and striding into the store.

"Hello," said one of the workers stacking shoes, a girl who looked like she could be about sixteen. She had a lot of curly black hair, stacked high on her head in some sort of bun-type thing, and friendly green eyes. "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah." I tilted my head towards the window display. "Those sneakers in the window—how many sizes of them do you have?"

She gave me a pleased smile, sliding her last two boxes onto their appropriate shelves. "The ones in the window are the only black ones we have, but we just got a shipment of the shoes in this morning, so we should be fully stocked. Would you like to see some?"

I smiled back, clutching at my card a little tighter. "Sure, thanks. I need five pairs."

…

Ninety minutes and six pairs of shoes later, I stepped out into the afternoon sun. (I'd cracked and bought a pair of cute sandals for Ella, because she'd been on the receiving end of my ill-founded frustration, too.)

As much as I hated to admit it, it was almost relaxing, just being in that air-conditioned store and chatting about nothing in particular with the clerk, Hannah. She'd been confused at first, when I wanted to many pairs of shoes (they were moderately expensive), and then I'd had to explain how I'd kind of blew up at my family, freaking them all out when they really didn't do anything wrong.

Hannah, to her credit, just nodded knowingly. We were sitting on the floor, surrounded by stacks of the various sizes of the shoes I wanted, and she pursed her lips and asked, "Boyfriend troubles?"

I'd nodded, ducking my head down to hide the telling blush that had started to tint my cheeks, and she'd said, quite matter-of-factly, "You know, boyfriends are just like Slinkys. They're not good for much, but it's fun to watch them fall down the stairs."

After that, we were almost-friends.

Now, though, I was regretting not having someone along with me. Two plastic bags filled with three boxes of shoes were _not_ the lightest or the most comfortable (or practical) things to carry around, especially when one had to, you know, _fly_ home.

I was just realizing this when, lo and behold, someone behind me let out a shrill scream. I dropped my apologies behind a newspaper box and spun, crouching into a fighting stance.

But there wasn't any need for a fight.

Two tween girls were screaming and jumping in circles just outside the shoe store, practically bouncing out of their clothes. Their mothers were a few steps behind them on the sidewalk, rolling their eyes in an amused fashion. One of the girls stopped and yanked her cell phone out of her pocked and snapped a quick picture of her and her friend, to capture the memory or something cheesy like that. (_Note to self: never give Nudge a camera phone._)

It was across the street from the two disgustingly _normal_ girls, however, where something scream-worthy _was_ happening.

Beth—the woman who could, quite possibly, be Fang's mother, no matter how hard he tried to deny it—was pushing her stroller, a fancy purse slapping at her shoulder, when a creepy-looking guy walked past and grabbed it. Her face twisted in pain and she cried out as her shoulder was pulled back, and she stumbled and lost control of the stroller, pushing it forward, fast.

Right into oncoming traffic.

I wasn't sure how I got over there so quickly (I guessed it had something to do with my super speed), but before I had a chance to analyze what I was doing, I had spirited across the street, was lunging for the stroller and the screaming toddler, and pulling it back just as an oncoming car swerved to avoid us. With adrenaline pounding in my ears, I gave a short, sorry wave to the driver, patted the crying kid's head, and twisted around, tensing my muscles for an oh-so-easy fight.

Beth clutched at her purse with one hand, using the other to pry desperately at the thick, beefy fingers of the creepazoid, who had a death hold around her neck.

"Hey!" I shouted, loud enough to get their attention. When both eyes were on me—Beth's wide and frightened, yet begging me to run, and Creep's narrowed with malice and a sick-looking hunger—I propped my hands on my hips and sneered. "Still stealing lunch money from the better-off? Why don't you pick on somebody your own size, Lard Butt."

I know, I know, that wasn't my best, but I'd heard Gazzy use it a couple of times when he and Iggy were having one of their weekly trash-talk wars, and it was the best I could do when highly-impressionable ears were nearby.

The creep sneered back, showing off his lovely yellow teeth, and tightened his grip around Beth's neck. Her lips were going purple. "And what are you going to do about that, Princess?" he growled.

I wanted to laugh, really laugh, at this guy. I mean, seriously, was he _stupid_? The flock was all over the news, I was certain, thanks to the CSM and all the work we were doing for them, and no doubt there was _something_ on how we'd saved my mom. Did he _really_ not recognize me? But, there _was_ a chance this guy didn't have access to regular cable.

"Oh, you really don't want to know," I said cheekily instead, right before darting forward and kicking him where the sun don't shine.

He roared, just like the bad guys did in all the Disney movies, and dropped Beth and her purse, rounding on me with a new, personal vengeance.

I bounced back on my toes, moving us away from the now-gasping mother and her sniffling kid. "Your move, fatso," I taunted, hopping up and down, arm loose and ready for his next swing.

He lunged forward, fist aiming for my stomach, but I side-stepped easily, deflecting the blow and landing a kick to his shin. The guy let out a low, feral growl and swung his knee towards my side. I dashed out of the way, only to meet a fist to the side of my head.

I'll admit, it sort-of went down hill from there.

With black spots popping up in my vision, I was off-balance, and therefore couldn't retaliate when a grimy boot was shoved into my diaphragm. There was a quiet _crack_, and I collapsed on my knees. Pain blossomed in my chest, stabbing me every time I sucked in a breath; I'd probably cracked a rib or two; really, nothing serious compared to what we'd dealt with before, but it still hurt like heck. _Pain is just a message. And you can ignore those messages_.

I forced myself to stand, breathing heavily and cupping one arm protectively across my chest. By the brief flicker of this guy's eyes, I knew I looked pretty scary. Heck, he'd probably thought I was down for the count. But then I noticed that his eyes weren't focused on me.

"_Big_ mistake."

Fang darted past me, swinging an angry fist at the guy's head. As I eased myself back to the ground, Fang landed a hit in the guy's jaw, a jab in his side, and a rather forceful kick to his groin. Our attempted mugger was on his knees now, wheezing and squeezing his eyes shut.

Fang crouched down, looking menacing and very, very peeved, and hissed, "If you _ever_ touch her again, I'll make sure it's the last thing you do." It was dark, coming from him, but then again, I _was_ wheezing like a chain smoker. And, you know, we _were_ sort-of dating.

The guy's eyes barely had a chance to widen before Fang punched him in the head, knocking him out cold.

How did I know he was unconscious as opposed to, I don't know, _dead?_

Because I didn't raise my flock to be killers—unless it was Erasers, Flyboys, or M-Geeks, of course. (The world could always use less of _them_.)

Fang was back at my side then, kneeling down and brushing my loose strands of hair out of the way and capturing my face between his gentle fingers. "You okay?" he whispered, his warm breath skating across my cheeks. His eyes were hooded, shoulders tense. Whatever he was angry about before was still there, but he was letting it go for the moment. Right now, I was the thing he was worried about.

And that kind of made me melt, just a little bit. "I'm fine," I smiled gently, reaching up and cupping his cheek. "Thanks, you."

He smirked that classic you're-such-a-liar Fang-smirk, but leaned his forehead against mine anyway. "Don't be so stupid next time, 'kay? You don't always have to play the hero." He didn't say it, but his eyes just-about _screamed_ how freaked out he was.

"Yessir." I planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, feeling rather un-Max-like emotions stir in my chest. _Sorry, Hannah, but you're wrong_, I thought with a smile. _Boyfriends are _so_ much better than Slinkys_.

"Let's get you home." Fang helped me to my feet, just as we were bombarded by squeals.

The tween girls.

They rushed across the street to jump around us, and over their squealing I heard the faint but distinctive sounds of police sirens. I shot a quick look at Fang. _We have to get out of here_. He nodded, arms still wrapped protectively around my waist.

"Sorry, we've got to go," I told the jumping girls, motioning with the hand not clutching at my throbbing chest for them to move away.

"Oh my _gosh!_" one of them squealed—she was blonde, with heavily-lined blue eyes, and she couldn't have been more than thirteen. "You're—you're—you!"

Her friend, a jittery brunette with painted-red lips, "You're totally them, aren't you?"

"Totally who?" I asked, Fang and I taking a small, synchronized step away.

"Totally _them!_" the blonde shrieked. "The kids who work for the CSM. The _bird_ kids!"

Fang and I shared a look of confusion, but there was humor in both of our eyes. We burst out laughing.

"What are you talking about?" Fang shook his head condescendingly and pulled me a little tighter to his chest; he _really_ wanted to get me out of here. Frankly, I really wanted to get out of here, too. I slumped slightly against his chest, black spots coming up again at the corners of my eyes.

"You're totally those bird-kids who work for the CSM," the blonde continued, and her friend nodded enthusiastically. "Here, I have a picture!" She pressed a couple buttons on her phone and shoved it under our noses. The sirens were getting louder.

Sure enough, there was our CSM-sanctioned photo, the one where Fang and I were standing together, surrounded by a laughing, easy-going flock, with all our wings hanging open. Mom had insisted we take it—to prove the legitimacy of the air shows or something—and I hadn't had the heart to tell her about Photoshop and the rumors that would surely be circling around because of the wings. Besides, we'd all been in good spirits that day, and I'd be hard-pressed not to indulge us when we deserved it.

Fang chuckled at the girls as I coughed a little, pain flaring up in my chest again. I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "That could be anyone," he commented nonchalantly. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we really need to be going."

He spun us, lifting me off of my feet and taking off around the girls, jogging down the street.

"How're you feeling?" Fang asked, his words raw with concern.

Absolutely exhausted but refusing to admit it, I murmured into his shoulder, "Just get us home."

He swung me into his arms bridal-style, and had taken maybe a dozen steps before a familiar voice called out to us.

"Wait!" Beth's shoes slapped the concrete as she jogged up to us. I opened my eyes to find her the perfect picture of shock—wide eyes, ruffled hair, her teary-eyed son on her hip once again. Her purse was back on her shoulder, and her dark, probing eyes were flicking from me to Fang and back, over and over. She was processing something. "You… you…"

"Sorry for any inconvenience," I said, wincing at the breath that burned the ache in my chest. "I hope you guys are okay."

"Oh, I'm fine," the mother said breathlessly, her eyes darting to me one last time before settling on Fang. "It's just that you look… and those girls…" She shook her head. "I _have_ to do something to help."

"We just need to get home," Fang said, his voice back to being stiff. His grip tightened around my torso. "Thanks, though."

And we were walking again, away from Beth, away from the possibilities that just swirled around her. I wasn't in the mood to fight it.

But there was something I couldn't forget. "Wait." I squeezed Fang's upper arm, briefly (read: stupidly) admiring the strength in his muscles before looking over to the newspaper box across the street. "I've got stuff over there," I said, pointing.

Fang sighed, but hurried across the street anyway. When we got to the newspaper box and he noticed the shopping bags, Fang's shoulders slumped. "Shoes?" he asked incredulously.

"Shoes," I replied with a smirk.

…

**Lots of stuff here. A little bit o' Fax, a random shoe tangent (why? I really don't know), a good ol' fight scene, and even a bit of mini-plot development. Also, a little reference to **_**Incredible**_**. (Bonus brownie points to whoever spots it.)**

**Does this make up for the shortness of last chapter?**

**Lots of Love,**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**


	4. Part Four

…

**Funny How These Things Happen**

**Part Four**

…

Post-Max.

It's funny. We've become so used to getting things stolen—Angel, Iggy at one point, Ari, Nudge for a bit, my Mom—that we're not ready when we find things. With our record, you'd think we'd expect the unexpected, but can you really blame us?

…

The flight home was relatively quiet, since Fang was off in his own thoughts and I was fading in and out, carrying my shopping spoils in my lap.

When we touched down, our entourage couldn't get out of the house fast enough.

"Max!" Mom cried, reaching us first. "What happened?" My eyes were closed, but I could hear the glare in her voice, most-likely directed at Fang.

Fang probably rolled his eyes. "Max had to play the hero again, for this woman who almost got her purse stolen from a snatcher. The snatcher got in a few lucky shots. Her ribs are cracked." _And that woman might just be _your mom! But I didn't say that.

Mom sighed, and I opened my eyes in time to see her run a hand through her hair. Her voice was softer now, lovingly exasperated. "Okay, bring her in."

Nudge spoke up next as we were walking back inside. "What'cha got there, Max?" Her voice was excited, full of anticipation.

"Shoes," I replied simply, which led to an excited squeal from said motor mouth. "They're for the flock, and I got Ella some sandals."

"In other words, Nudge," Ella piped up jokingly, "keep your paws _off_."

The two girls lifted the bags out of my arms and hurried ahead of Fang, Mom, and I.

"Do we really all get shoes?" Gazzy sounded suspicious. "What for?"

"Because I yelled at you for no reason," I sighed, as Fang carried me up the porch steps and into the house, "and because you all need new shoes."

"Didn't you get yourself a pair of shoes, Max?" Angel piped up, her little fingers reaching up to squeeze mine.

"Naw," I said with a weak smile, closing my eyes again. "Your sneakers all needed replacing, while mine are still okay. Now where's Ig? I haven't heard him."

"In the kitchen!" he called. "What's up?"

"He's making dinner," Ella replied, from the living room, I guessed. To Iggy, she said loudly, "Max had to save the day again, but she got a little hurt and Mom and Fang are going to fix her up. But come out here! She got us all new shoes!"

The kids' voices all blended together, their cried of excitement and glee trailing up behind us as Fang walked me upstairs and into the guest room.

"You didn't buy yourself shoes?" he asked, lying me down on the bed. Mom had probably slipped away to get her supplies.

"The kids come first. They deserve nice shoes," I mumbled, opening my bleary eyes. Fang's face was surprisingly close, his body positioned nearly on top of mine as he perched on the edge of my bed.

"You deserve nice things, too, Max," he said quietly, kissing my forehead. Then he stood, slipping out of the room to be replaced by my Mom.

She looked from me lying, blushing, on the bed, to the hallway, down which Fang had just disappeared.

"Should I be concerned?" she asked, her eyes displaying the appropriate amount of motherly concern anyway as she brought in her first aid kit and began to set up shop on the night stand.

"No, Mom." I gave a little laugh, even as breathing hurt that much more. "We're okay."

…

We ended up taking a quick trip to the vet clinic for an X-ray, and, as it turned out, I did have three cracked ribs. Mom put me under house arrest for the next few days, basically saying I could do whatever as long as I stayed on my butt for most of the day. Much to her surprise, I agreed rather quickly. And so the next few days were pretty mellow.

On Tuesday, Ig and Gazzy had mercifully taken their experiments outside, to an abandoned gorge about ten miles from here where they'd be testing out some of their latest work. I'd delegated Angel to go with them and keep them in line, and she'd accepted with a pleased little smile, much to the Gasman's disgruntlement. Nudge and Ella were holed up in my sister's room, gossiping about the latest celebrity-or-other. Apparently, this Canadian guy was getting pretty huge, though I'd heard his voice a couple of times and thought he sounded like a girl. (Ella assured me this was pre-voice change, though the guy was supposedly sixteen.)

Mom was at work, which left Fang and I to our own devices.

We'd been having a movie marathon while I was on the mend, sorting through all of Mom's DVD's. We started out sci-fi cult, with the original Star Wars trilogy and the new Star Trek movie, moving on to fantasy cult, with the Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter's first six years.

Basically though, the movies were just a front for us to snuggle for an extended amount of time and talk about anything and everything. Oh, and eat boatloads of air-popped popcorn, since it was one of the few things I could make without burning it to a crisp.

We had moved onto action/thriller/heists by Tuesday afternoon, and were currently watching either one of the Jason Bourne movies, or an Ocean's one. (All I knew was that Matt Damon was in it. I wasn't really paying much attention.) Fang and I were curled up on the couch, with me practically sitting in his lap, his arms wound loosely around my waist. A bowl of popcorn sat on the couch beside us, half-eaten.

Fang's breathing was steady in my ear, and I couldn't remember ever feeling this comfortable. (I think that every girl should have a Fang to snuggle with. Only, you can't have _my_ Fang, because he's, well, _mine_.) We stayed like that for a while, only moving to grab for more popcorn, until Fang shifted underneath me and asked, "Max?"

"Hmm?" I pulled away, sliding off of his lap so I could meet his eyes. "What's up?"

He exhaled through his nose and looked down at his hands, which were now lying, empty, in his lap. "About Sunday, and what I said…" He trailed off, almost as if he was waiting for me to say something. I didn't. Fang sighed and took my hands in his, knotting our fingers together. "I'm sorry," he said to our locked fingers.

"I know." I meant it, too, and I rubbed my thumbs along the backs of his hands, squeezing them in reassurance. "I'm sorry, too."

"For what?"

"For scaring everyone, running out of here. For getting myself beat up. For scaring you." The last part I said in a whisper.

He released one of my hands, cupping my chin and forcing it up so our eyes met. His gaze were gentle, but there was a firmness in his words when he said, "I wasn't scared."

I nodded, knowing we were both thinking of my breakdown a lifetime ago on the beach, when he _had_ been terrified.

"So… we're okay?" Fang's mouth twisted into a hopeful, teasing smile, and I nodded again, laughing.

"Yeah, we're okay."

We settled back into our movie, relaxing into the couch and each other's arms. Fang's breathing evened out beneath me, and I tucked my head under his chin.

He'd said he was sorry for what he said, meaning the part where my help wasn't really helpful, but he seemed to totally glance over the whole reason for the argument: Beth. I didn't know about Fang, but she'd been at the back of _my_ thoughts ever since we stumbled across her, and I just couldn't shake the feeling that she was _important_, somehow.

As crazy, as implausible, as it was, I wanted to know more about her—I wanted to know if she _really_ was Fang's mom. He'd said that _I_ deserved nice things, just like the rest of the flock. Well, he deserved a mom. A real, flesh-and-blood mother. One that wasn't a fourteen-year-old stand-in, who was also his sort-of girlfriend.

Fang deserved a real mom.

"Fang?" I poked him in the side.

"What?" He looked down at me, eyes tinged with both vague annoyance and curiosity.

I sat up straighter, even though my chest protested a little. Jaw set, I said, "We should try to find out more about your mom."

His face shut down and he turned back to the movie, jaw clenching. "I don't want to talk about this."

"But I _do_, Fang. I'm not going to list all the what-if's, because you and I both know them. Shouldn't we at least _look_ into it? We could do some internet surfing, she said she had a catering business! And I'm sure we can find birth certificates, or—"

"No." Fang stood up abruptly, and I fell back against the couch. He was facing the TV, but his shoulders were tight, hands clenched tight. "Max, just drop it."

I stood, too, grabbing onto his shoulder. "Fang, you _deserve_ to know who your mom is," I told him, my voice soft.

But he just shook his head. "Just drop it, Max," he said harshly, turning away from me and ghosting around the couch, up the stairs.

I frowned after him, crossing my arms over my chest. "Fang—"

I was cut off by the shrill ringing of the home phone. Fang paused on the stairs, turning to quirk an eyebrow at me, our argument momentarily forgotten. I shrugged, bending to snatch the phone off of its cradle on the side table.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Max, it's you." It was Mom, and she was crying.

"God, what's going on?" My hands tightened around the phone, and I'm sure I sounded a little hysteric. Fang was back at my side in an instant. "Mom? Are you okay?"

"Oh, honey, I'm fine." She still sounded choked up, and I pulled the phone away slightly so Fang could listen in, too. My heart was going a hundred miles an hour. "Is Fang there?"

"Right here, Dr. Martinez," Fang answered, his voice colored with worry, too. "What's going on?"

"You two need to get down here, right away. You two won't believe—"

I hung up, not even bothering to finish listening to my mom's sentence. "Nudge! Ella!" I yelled up the stairs as we hurried to the door. "We'll be right back! Stay here, okay?"

"Wait—what?" Nudge's voice was quickly followed by footsteps, and then she and my sister were standing at the top of the stairs.

"What's going on?" Ella asked frantically, her brown eyes wide.

"Can't talk—gotta go!" Fang flung the front door open and I tossed him his windbreaker, jamming my feet into my frayed, battle-worn sneakers. _Okay, maybe I _do_ need new shoes…_ "Just stay here, okay?"

We were up in the air before I could hear their reply.

…

**Yeah, I had to include a little cutesy Fax. I love steamy Fax and all, but cutesy Fax I have a soft spot for. I mean, I could never **_**ever**_** see Max and Dylan be all cute and couple-y. Dylan just rolls over at Max's feet, while Fang would actually **_**do**_** something for her, like snuggle with her on the couch when her ribs are cracked. ^-^**

**(Which reminds me [and I SHALL be stealing eclipsed heart's slogan, because it just fits]: REVIEWS are like FANGS to snuggle with. Because you ALL know you want one. ;) )**

**Lots of Love,**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**


	5. Part Five

**Hiya. I don't want to mess with the ending by breaking it up with an A/N, so I'm talking up here.**

**Thanks for not hating me, if anyone DID bother to review/read this whole thing.**

**Lots of Love,**

**Your faithful author,**

**Lea**

**(PS. Reviews let me know how I did on this little tangent.)**

…

**Funny How These Things Happen**

**Part Five**

…

Post-Max.

It's funny. We've become so used to getting things stolen—Angel, Iggy at one point, Ari, Nudge for a bit, my Mom—that we're not ready when we find things. With our record, you'd think we'd expect the unexpected, but can you really blame us?

…

We hit the ground running, slinging our windbreakers on as we hurried around to the front of Mom's clinic. I nearly plowed into a kid trailing after his mom and carrying a sleepy-looking Golden Retriever puppy out of the building, but managed to stop before I totally knocked him into the ground. The kid's eyes went wide in shock, and I called out a hurried, "Sorry!" over my shoulder as Fang and I burst inside.

Mom was standing in front of the reception desk, leaning against it with her hands pressed to her mouth. Her eyes were red, and she was looking over in the direction of the little waiting area.

"Mom!" I wrapped my arms around her, squeezing her tightly around the middle. "What's going on? Are you okay? Is everything okay?"

"I'm just fine, sweetie," she laughed, hugging back, before she pulled me back. She was grinning. "I am _absolutely_ fine."

"Then what—"

"Oh, my God…"

I spun out of my mother's arms, head snapping towards the sound of the voice. Beth was standing in the corner of the waiting area, her hands tight around a piece of paper. Beside her was a tall man with brown eyes and chestnut hair, a strong jaw line, and an angular nose—just like Fang. They were both wearing wedding bands, and their eyes were a matching, teary red.

Fang was half a dozen steps behind me, frozen in place. He stared at Beth and her husband, mouth closed but jaw slack, his face utterly blank.

For those of you who don't speak Fang: he was in absolute shock.

"Fang…" I murmured, taking a step forward. Mom's hands came around my forearms, and she held me back gently. "No, sweetie," she murmured into my ear.

Beth had taken two steps towards Fang, who still looked like a kid lost in an amusement park—out of place and wholly uncomfortable. She unfolded the piece of paper in her hands, and I caught a glimpse of our CSM picture, printed out to fill the sheet.

"Is this you?" she asked, voice shaky. Her fingers wobbled as she passed over the picture.

Fang's hair flopped into his face as he looked down at it. He didn't respond right away, flicking his eyes up to me instead. His dark irises were as scared as I'd ever seen them.

I wanted to run over there and throw my arms around him, tell him that things would be okay, but I stayed rooted to my spot. _Oh, God, Fang…_

He looked back at the picture, staring at it hard for a second. My heart was in my throat, and I sucked in a breath. _Please, please say yes…_

Fang took a shaky breath in before straightening and meeting Beth's tense gaze. His face was still deceptively blank, but his eyes were burning. "Yeah, that's me," he said.

Beth's breath caught in her throat. "Because that's a picture of my son," she whispered.

Fang's eyebrows pinched together, and he looked back down at the picture, eyes going wide. Before he could say anything, or pretty much react in general, Beth had flung her arms around him, squeezing his shoulders tight. My heart stopped, waiting, _praying_ for a reaction. Fang stood stock still for half a second, half a second too long, and then he crumpled, wrapping his arms around his mother's torso and burying his face into her shoulder. They were both shaking, and I had no doubt that they were crying, too. Beth's husband—Peter, if I was correct—merged into the embrace, too, engulfing Fang and Beth in his long arms.

I didn't realize I was crying until Mom's wet face leaned into my shoulder and she gave a pathetic hiccup.

"Those are Fang's parents," she whispered.

I nodded, throat suddenly burning. "Yeah," I whispered back.

…

The next few days were a whirlwind.

We took Fang's parents back to my Mom's and introduced them to the flock—wings out. Sure, they were surprised at first, and Beth started crying when we all jumped up and hovered about ten feet in the air, but when we landed she just pulled Fang in for another hug, sobbing into his shoulder. As it turned out, Fang had two younger siblings, and they were pretty much carbon-copies of him—a two-year-old brother named Tyler, who we'd met twice that first day, and a nine-year-old sister named Stacie. They weren't scared to see our wings, either, and Peter even let us fly the kids around for a bit.

Within the kids' first half-hour of being here, Angel already called a claim to Stacie, and the two girls were off somewhere playing with Ella's old dolls. The rest of us all converged in the living room, Fang, his parents, and his little brother all piling on the couch while my flock and I took up random seats around the room when Ella and Mom took over the loveseat. We talked, mostly about the flock, and our escapades with the School and Itex and the Uber-Director and even what happened in Hawaii. Everything was sugar-coated, of course, because no one wanted to scare these new people, or Mom. (Even she didn't know the honest details about what we had gone through, or how scarred still we were.)

Beth and Peter explained to us how they had been under the impression Fang died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. They'd thought it was fishy that none of the doctors—whitecoats, we assumed—had let them hold their son, or see him after he'd "died," but they'd been too distressed to push it. It wasn't until a few years later, when Beth was pregnant with Stacie, that she found out her former obstetrician was under government surveillance for potential involvement with an underground company that performed experiments on human children.

Beth showed off her cooking skills one day by whipping up this giant meal—and by giant, I mean even the six of us bird-kids couldn't finish everything she'd put out—from scratch. She'd laughed when she saw us eating, and when my Mom apologized profusely she only shook it off and said we were good practice for the wedding she'd be catering.

Peter was really interested in Fang's blog, since it turned out he worked for Google. (Really, of all the nerdy jobs in the world, that was definitely the coolest.) He helped Fang get the stupid broken stat-counter working again, and even set the blog up with its own domain (in layman's terms, gave it its own URL), instead of the free one Fang had been using. They even got a forum going, so Fang's readers could chat amongst themselves about his blog posts.

The entire time they were here, Fang was grinning so hard you'd think he was somebody else. Nudge made a backhanded comment about it the other day (something like, "Who is he and what did he do with Fang?"), which led to Iggy bursting out laughing and Fang slapping him in the head. Over all, though, we were all in high spirits. Even Ig—who you'd expect to be a little bitter, since his parents were so less-than-stellar—was amiable about it, joking around with the flock and poking fun at Fang the whole time.

Then, they dropped the figurative bomb on us Friday evening.

We were all sitting around the kitchen table, gorging ourselves on take-home pizza and guzzling soda like there was no tomorrow, generally being loud and boisterous and happy, the way we always were when we were hyped up on caffeine, pizza, and good luck.

Beth shared a look with Peter, and Stacie set down her slice of pepperoni to grin over at Fang, who sat at the head of the table, directly to my right.

"Well, Fang," Peter began, grasping his wife's hand. (It was insanely cool that they decided to call him that, by the way, instead of the name they'd planned on giving him—Gregory. Nothing against the name, and no offense to all the Gregories of the world, but it just wasn't Fang.) "Beth and I, and Stacie and Tyler, have been talking quite a bit, and…" He trailed off, turning to Beth for help.

She grinned, scooting forward in her seat. Everyone in the room was dead-silent. "We'd like you to come and stay with us," she said excitedly, the words tumbling out almost too fast for her to handle.

The entire kitchen seemed to freeze. My heart stopped beating.

I was up and out of the room in half a millisecond, and up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door shut by the next.

_Ohgodohgodohgod._

I slumped against the door, breathing in deep, short lungfuls, and slid to the floor, holey socks sliding across the carpet.

He was going to say yes, because they were his freaking _parents_, and who wouldn't? And he was going to leave us. Leave me.

_Oh God._

There was some sort of strangled, choking noise, and it took me a minute to realize that it was _me_. I swiped the back of my hand across my face, smearing the useless, stupid tears.

_You should be happy for him, idiot. He's going to have a real family. You should be freaking ECSTATIC!_

_You _should_ be._

I groaned, banging my head against the door, as if that would make the Voice go away. _Nice time to show up, Voice. You couldn't have dropped some words of wisdom, I don't know, _yesterday?

There was no response. _Typical_.

Except, there was a knock on the door. I didn't move. "Go away." I closed my eyes, like, if I did that, then maybe I wouldn't sound so sniffle-y and pathetic.

"Max."

It was Fang.

I scrambled to my feet, throwing the door open. His face was back to that carefully-constructed mask I thought we'd gotten past—apparently not. I forced myself to grin before whirling and walking calmly, stiffly, over to my bed, babbling the whole way. "Hey, so, congratulations, you. Looks like I was right, huh? Who'da thought we'd find your parents here, in Arizona? That's so wonky, right? And now you're gonna go be a big happy family, and you can go to high school and make all sorts of nice, normal friends, and maybe even get a nice, normal girlfriend, and tell her about your wings, and fly her places because that's romantic or something, and then you'll get married, and have cute little, half-avian babies. Maybe they'll even be able to _fly_, too."

I was holding back sobs, curled up on the bed, arms keeping my knees firmly locked against my chest. Fang sat down beside me, looking at the floor. I nudged him with my shoulder, half-laughing, half-hysteric. "You'll be the best dad."

And that's when I broke down, sobbing into my knees. I was vaguely aware of Fang wrapping his arms around my shoulders, smoothing my hair down, shushing me like I was a little kid who'd woken up from a nightmare, or was living in one.

"Max," he murmured, carefully unlocking my arms from around my legs. With his hands enclosed around my wrists, he said, "Max, look at me."

I did, knowing I looked like a snot-nosed, delirious mess. "Yeah?" I gave a fake, watery smile. "What's up?"

He wasn't impressed, lifting an eyebrow as if to say, _Really, Max, really?_ Then, "I said no."

"Huh?"

I straightened a little when he leaned closer, eyes glinting with something I couldn't really identify. "I said no, Max," he murmured, taking hold of my face.

"What—why?" I blinked the last of my tears away, clutching at his shoulders. "Why would you _do_ that?" My voice was still slightly hysterical, but I really could care less.

Fang have me his gentle, _Oh-Max_ smile. "I said that I'd only go if the flock could come, too. We're a package deal." He leaned closer, bumping our noses. "_You're_ a package deal, Max."

"That was so unbelievably _cheesy_, Fa—" He didn't let me finish, pressing his lips to mine and basically cutting all thought short. After that, I could only focus on his lips against mine, and how they melded together in an utterly perfect, flawless way, as if, by some divine will, we were _made_ for each other.

Fang kissed me firmly, his lips working against mine, and essentially turned me into mush from the inside out. My hands wound their way around his neck, and his around my waist. We were pressed to close together, so tightly, that I almost couldn't breathe, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.

We pulled back at the same moment, both light-headed and deliriously happy. Or, at least, I was.

"So, you're staying?" I breathed, our faces still extremely close.

Fang chuckled, kissing me again quickly, lightly. "I'm not going anywhere, Max."

Hands entwined firmly together, we made our way out of my room, down the stairs. In the hallway before we reached the kitchen, Fang pulled me to a stop. "Wait here." He skirted into the office, where he and Ig were sleeping while here. (My mother was overly-paranoid about her daughters.) I sighed, leaning against the opposite wall and crossing my arms in wait. When Fang emerged, it was with a sheepish grin and a cardboard box. A shoe box.

"For you, Cinderella." He didn't get on one knee, but he did open the box and pull out a clean, brand-new sneaker—the black ones I'd been looking at almost a week ago.

I laughed, taking the box with one arm and hugging him with the other. "You've been speaking with Hannah, I see."

Fang nodded, winking. "Don't worry, she says I'm better than a slinky."

I grinned and kissed him lightly in thanks. "You most-definitely are."

We walked back into the kitchen, still holding hands and sharing smiles like some cheesy Hollywood couple. Mom raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, and I winked, taking my seat back at the table.

Beth's eyes were wide with sudden understanding, a slight blush on her cheeks, and her lips were open in a small 'o'. Then she beamed, leaning forward, and said, "You and your flock are welcome to visit any time, Max."

…

It's almost funny how everything turned out.

I guess it was because we were so used to losing things, or getting them taken away. Jeb left us at the E-shaped house, the school stole Angel away, Iggy left with _his_ parents for a little while, Ari died in my arms, Nudge scared the heck out of us by wanting to be normal, and we'd only _just_ got back from saving Mom. Rarely did things ever turn out good for us—there was always a catch, always some bad karma that would end up kicking our butts later. There was always another test.

So, when we actually find things, we're not sure how to handle it.

I think that's why Fang was so scared to actually find out if his parents _were_ his parents. With our record (or lack thereof), they could just as easily have been whitecoats, or druggies, or in the Maffia, or something even worse. It was a miracle that _my_ mom was as fantastic as she was, and for Fang's parents to be that cool, that understanding, too? The odds were next to nothing.

So when we _were_ proven wrong, when it turned out that Fang's parents _were_ as fantastic, as understanding, as awesome as they could possibly be, none of us were more surprised than Fang himself.

'Cause, sometimes, life is just funny that way.

…

_**FIN**_

…


End file.
